Length
by sangre antigua
Summary: Dean says something about Sam's...length, and Sam is hell-bent on proving him wrong. WINCEST.


**Author:** sangre antigua.

**Rating; Title; Pairing:** M; Length; Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester.

**Summary:** Dean says something about Sam's...length, and Sam is hell-bent on proving him wrong. WINCEST.

**Warning/Disclaimer:** Do not own _Supernatural. _At all. D':

**DO NOT READ IF YOU DO NOT AGREE WITH/LIKE SLASH/WINCEST.**

- - -

On most days, Dean hated the rain. It made the world frigid and groggy. Entertainment was rare and fighting was hard. On countless rainy days he had lost his footing, hurting not only his chance at using the element of surprise, but his rump as well. It was peaceful when he drove, the constant pitter-patter calming, letting Dean know he wasn't alone. Because that's how it felt some times. He was always with Sam and often times Bobby, but Dean hadn't felt like he had mattered in some time. He felt expendable and alienated, though the two closest people to him had showed him tenfold how much he really meant. But on those long drives that consumed most of his days, winding down desolate strip after desolate strip of asphalt, when Sam was asleep and far away from Dean inside of his dreams, the rain kept him company and whispered to him through the cracked window, "Dean, you're not alone."

His feeling of perpetual seclusion dulled down quite a bit after he returned from Hell. That, by itself, was confusing to Dean. He felt like he had a giant hole in the middle of his stomach, but he felt like he had gotten something back in exchange. He had gotten Sam, at least for a little bit. And on nights like this, he had all of Sam, and it was beautiful.

Sam hadn't seen Ruby in weeks. Just Dean and the open rode, and the occasional ghost and demon. The commutes had been longer than usual, but it didn't really both either of them. It was nice, actually. Dean had been more than alone in Hell, and now here he was, with Sam every day for nearly every moment. He missed the way Sam laughed at things that he thought; the way his brother breathed, awake and asleep; the way his brother would sing the old 80's songs with him, without a care in the world; the way his brother was there. Hell had made Dean realize just what "alone" could mean.

It was a cool November night, the rain sprinkling gently on the front window of Dean's beloved Impala. It was around two, give or take fifteen minutes or so, with a whole moon bleaching out the navy sky. They had just left Yuma, Arizona and were on their way towards the East Coast to salt and burn a demon that's signature move was screaming. Thus, Dean called her the Howler Monkey.

The road was open and bare; a sparse number of trees surrounded them, slowly turning from deciduous trees to evergreen trees like a gradient. Besides the trees and the occasional animal, Sam was the only one there with him. There were airplanes in the sky, but they were no company. They didn't breathe and converse, and they never would.

Dean drove, as usual, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel to a song that long ago went off. Sam stretched in the passenger's seat, his long frame expanding as much as his confined quarters would permit. He brushed his brother's leather-clad shoulder and they locked gazes for less than a heartbeat.

"If it wouldn't ruin my baby's good looks, I would attach a separate cab just so you could stretch your ginormo body all you want without hitting me. I'm waiting for your giant clubs to conk me out while I'm drivin'," Dean said with a small smile, looking at Sam after every other word, each glance followed by a once-over of the road ahead. Empty, as usual, and straight as hell. They had been going straight for what felt like hours now, though it had probably been less than half an hour. The lines on the pavement warped Dean's sense of time like no other.

"I don't have clubs," Sam whined, his voice clad in mock-hurt. "I'm just…long." Immaturely, they both laughed. They shared a smile for a few seconds, relishing in the way their dimples mirrored and their laughs fit like two halves of a whole. "You're so childish." Sam rolled his eyes for emphasis, smiling despite himself.

"Listen, college boy. You said it. Though it's a lie, it's funny as hell." When Sam snickered at him and pushed him against the car door, Dean laughed. "Your body stole all the nutrients you had to make you huge as shit. I bet your pecker is tiny and dwarfy." When Sam cursed under his breath and crossed his arms, a fluster gracing his cheeks, Dean lost control and laughed so hard that tears welled up in his eyes. "Come to think of it…midgets are kinda…I dunno. Not my thing, y'know? Did y'know that there're some real twisted fucks out there? There's such a thing as 'midget amputee' porn! With a urine fetish. Talk about messed up!" Laughing until it hurt to breathe, Dean barely noticed that Sam hadn't piped in. With a smirk, he mewed, "Oh…did I strike a nerve? It's gotta be bigger than your dick."

"I'll prove it to you," Sam said through gritted teeth. The pulse in his neck jumped like a fish out of water. "I'll prove it to you, right now."

"Prove what?" Dean mumbled, drying his eyes.

"That I'm not tiny." His voice was so serious that Dean had to look at him three times before he could breathe again. "I'll whip it out right here, and prove it to you. I'm probably bigger than you."

"Woah, woah there, cowboy!" Dean sat up in his seat. "If it makes you feel good to puff up your chest and challenge me to a penis-showing duel, then go ahead. But I'm not going to look at your dick to fix your bruised ego." An odd sensation arose in Dean's gut. In attempt to rid himself of it, he wiggled down into his seat, his knee brushing the divider between the driver's seat and the passenger's. It didn't help at all. It actually acted as gasoline to a flame, making the feeling stronger. His whole midsection was warm and his ears felt red-hot.

"It's not a game. I'll prove to you, Dean." He began attacking the clasp of his jeans like there was no tomorrow, his fingers slipping over the metal and brushing angrily against the jean material. With a gasp that he had just barely managed to hide, Dean shot his hand over to still Sam's hand. The feeling in his stomach fluctuated and rose to his Adam's Apple, making it difficult to breathe. Sam's breath came in ragged bursts as well, his chest rising and falling heavily in the dim night air. "I'll prove it to you." The look in his eyes made the feeling grow hot, warming Dean's whole body. He shivered under the heat of it and tightened his left hand on the wheel, his right hand still on top of Sam's on the clasp of his brother's jeans. "I'll prove it to you." He sounded like a broken record, but what he was saying sounded so good.

And so wrong.

Dean pulled his hand away swiftly, with so much force that his other arm slammed against the window. Sucking down any pain that might slip through the cracks of his teeth, he wriggled down into his seat again and returned to driving steadily once more. Unbeknownst to himself, he had sped up to almost a hundred while his hand had rested on Sam's jean clasp. He looked around and saw that the highway was still clear. "Keep it in your pants," Dean whispered halfheartedly. "Keep it in your pants."

"No, I'm going to prove it to you." Without another word, Sam unbuttoned his jeans and tugged down the fly. As the zipper sounded, Dean inhaled jaggedly.

I won't look. I won't look. I won't look. I won't look. Dean chanted in his head, his fingers gripping the steering wheel so tightly that his knuckles turned white. The mantra played again and again, like a broken record skipping inside of him. But the more he thought it, the more he wished to give into to temptation.

He finally understood the pressure Adam and Eve were under, hit blatantly between the eyes with the realization that, yeah, the forbidden fruit is the sweetest.

Gingerly, Sam pulled his length out of his boxers, shimmying out of his jeans with ease. His face was flushed and his chest felt as if it would cave in at any second. But for some reason, he had to prove this to Dean. It was sick and twisted, but Sam was eager for Dean to see him exposed and in the open. His cock twinged within his grasp, slowly growing hard. "Look," he said softly. The tip wept anxiously as Sam stroked himself absently.

Dean wanted to. God, he wanted to. "Put it back in your pants, Sam," he insisted, though his eyes drifted over to the hardening rod of flesh. The feeling, now identified as arousal, exploded within Dean, and he could feel all of the blood rushing to his nether-region, leaving a trail of fire licking all of his veins, causing his blood to turn red-hot. His skin felt as if it would fall off at any moment. He needed Sam; needed that connection to save him from the point of no return. Dean swallowed hard, tensing the muscles of his thighs in attempt to distance his thoughts. It only made it worse. The gas was pressed to the floor, the car beginning to bounce in the slightest as they past eighty, ninety, one hundred miles an hour.

"No. You're going to see it," Sam continued, his voice husky and raw with sensuality. He grabbed Dean's hand and placed it on his cock, Dean's hand warm and dry on top of his throbbing length. Instinctively, he raised his hips up into Dean's palm, groaning softly behind clenched teeth as his cock was closed firmly around. The two locked eyes for a moment before Sam continued raising his hips, licking his lips over and over, though his lips never got wet enough. The organ was long, maybe nine inches, give or take half an inch, and slightly thinner than Dean's own. There was a vein throbbing beautifully around it, decorating the sides like a sensual robe. The urge to run his tongue up it hit Dean like a sack of bricks.

Thinking better of it than to drive under these circumstances, Dean pulled off the road. The speedometer's needle slowly drifted from one hundred and ten miles an hour all the way down to five, until Dean finally parked the Impala in the middle of nowhere. They were still in Arizona, so they probably were in the desert. But Dean didn't care. His hand still wrapped around Sam's cock, and Sam still pushing in and out of Dean's fist, the elder of the two took a deep breath and leaned in.

Their lips connected, and Dean could have sworn a thunderstorm started somewhere in the world. The electricity he felt was so raw and strong, something unlike any of the other encounters he had ever had, that he felt compelled to lose himself in this. Throwing caution to the wind as he did so, Dean scooted to his brother and kissed him with so much force that their teeth clanked together, grazing lips and nicking skin. But the blood didn't faze them, and the sound was muted by their heavy breathing.

By now, Dean was straining against his jeans, held back by a force that, at the moment, seemed so evil and unfair that he could have cried. But with a smile Sam fixed his brother's dilemma, and with a kiss he washed the melancholy away. His kisses were like nothing Dean had ever tasted; like alcohol, both delicious and toxic. In that moment, Dean knew Sam would be the end of him. Did he care? Not at all.

Sam's heart was going a mile a minute with no intention of slowing down. He tugged off Dean's jeans, kissed him hard, and ripped off the rest of their clothing with a primal strength that birthed a growl in his throat. He felt on edge and he loved it. With Jess, there had been love, and there had been passion. But nothing like this, ever. He had never felt driven to go on; had never been so enthralled by the scent of another person, or the taste, or the sounds, as he was with Dean.

The leather was cool underneath his bare ass, but Dean couldn't complain. It was hot as Hell inside the Impala. The windows were fogging up fast and their eyes were glossing over with no time to spare. Lust colored the Winchester brothers' sight bright red.

In a less than graceful motion, the brothers agreed to move into the backseat. Limbs tangled and bodies clashed, but not a word was uttered until they were in the backseat. Lost in his hair, Sam fought zealously to see Dean again. Smirking, Dean parted the tussles of chocolate and curled them behind his brother's ears. "I'm right here," he heaved, and their lips met once again.

Without much thought as to protest, Sam was pinned against the side of the Impala. He lent no thought to the pain near his spine, either. All of it was focused on Dean and the friction that their groins rubbing together created.

Huskily, Sam spoke Dean's name. He was silenced by Dean's very lips and by the hand that found its way back to his cock. The organ was pumped in rapid succession, causing his breath to fall and rise in haphazard gasps. His mind fogged up, but his body still acted. His mouth sought Dean's neck and the ripe flesh awaiting him there, taunt and tanned and delicious, and his hand searched for the cock radiating the need for release. He found both of his targets, each mission sealed with a groan from his brother. Precum from the joyous heads allowed both of their hands to work dutifully, up and down and up and down until they saw stars in unison.

The pulse throbbing in Dean's neck caught Sam's attention. Feather kisses were placed from the pulse itself to Dean's collarbone, to his right nipple, to his left, and then all the way up his jaw and to his lips. Feathers were singed by the intensity of the kiss. Their tongues fought for dominance, but neither cared who won. It was a win, win situation, one that ended with both being spent, their faces plastered with lazy smiles.

Climax was close for Sam. He could feel it swimming around in his sack, awaiting the moment to attack and reach the blessed pinnacle of his carnal desire. He closed his eyes and leaned against Dean's body, his head resting on his shoulder. His breath was warm against Dean's sweaty skin, but it emitted goosebumps none the less.

It was hard to think of anything but the climax rising in his own gut. Dean's lips were plump from kissing and his hand felt permanently molded into the cast of his brother's erection, but it mattered not. Not in the slightest. He was the freest he had ever felt. The happiest, too. Who would have thought that he'd be happy and free touching his little brother in the middle of nowhere, Arizona? Not Dean Winchester.

"D-Dean". The groan that played off Sam's lips was the sweetest music Dean had ever heard. It pushed all of the right buttons. Dean could feel the climax building up, almost to its peak. He was ready for it. So very ready. "I'm gonna c-cum—Oh, God, Dean."

In sex, Sam made a lot of noise, but he very seldom talked. The fact that he had even said this many words surprised him. But he had never been with anyone like Dean. He had never had this feral attraction present. He didn't know what to expect.

A few more pumps from Dean and Sam spilled his seed. The warm liquid coated the top of Dean's hand; some hit his left breast and the rest hit his abs. It smelt divine, unlike anything Dean had ever had the privilege of smelling before. He licked it off his hand, Sam's eyes incredulous as he watched Dean's fingers dart from white pool to white pool, lifting the seed to his lips to suck it off after every retrieval.

Knowing his brother wouldn't last much longer, Sam adopted a smirk and sank between his knees. He took a second to relish in the tight muscles of the calves and thighs there before plunging down on the throbbing cock before him. The head was slick with precum and the organ, itself, throbbed within Sam's mouth. But it was nothing compared to the sounds Dean made as Sam dipped up and down, skills that were hidden before coming to the light. His tongue trailed the shaft, lingering to coat the entirety of Dean's sack, before trailing back to the very tip, where he sucked on the head until he had received all of Dean.

He cleaned every drop with his tongue.

The two laid against each other for support for some time, their heartbeats pounding in the same precarious thumps. Under any other normal circumstance, this would have triggered a heart attack.

But nothing like that could come out of anything so right.

Lazily, Dean kissed the tops of Sam's closed eyes before making his way to the small grin on his lips. He kissed him softly, taking his time to really taste his brother. Dean's own seed lingered on Sam's tongue, and vice versa. The taste was indescribable.

"So?" Sam breathed out, licking his lips again, though, like always, they never stayed wet.

"What?" Dean blinked.

"Did I prove my point, or did I prove my point?"

Dean grinned wildly, the Cheshire smile reaching his eyes, making them twinkle. "I'm not so sure...you'll have to prove it to me later." Their eyes met and soon their smiles were echoes of one another.

"I can show you as many times as you like," Sam whispered with a kiss.


End file.
